


Divine Inspiration

by Karieauthoress (ksrandomme), ksrandomme



Series: Angel [2]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-26
Updated: 2009-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 03:41:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ksrandomme/pseuds/Karieauthoress, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ksrandomme/pseuds/ksrandomme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vice!Jim returns home to get a new case that could use the talents of a certain 'Angel'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Divine Inspiration

  
As Jim let himself into his loft, he sighed heavily. He knew instantly that he was not alone. He also knew that there were only a few people who had a key to his apartment. And he knew of only one person who would have a reason to be in the room, on his sofa, sipping his beer, watching his TV.

“Hey Jack,” grunted the cop as he dropped his bag on the floor next to the door. Captain Jack Pendergrast glanced over his shoulder to smile at him.

“Heya, Slick. How’d it go?” Jack clicked the remote and twisted around to watch Jim as he headed over to the fridge to snag a beer of his own. He paused as he counted the bottles, adding it up in his head and realizing he was going to have to go to the store soon. Closing the fridge he wandered over to sit on the other sofa across from his friend and Captain.

“It sucked. If Tank is still in Cascade by morning, it’s cause he’s still letting his boys play hide and seek with me, and they haven’t realized I reached base.” Jim took a deep pull from his bottle, sighing as the cool amber liquid slipped down his throat. He hoped he could expect the pleasant buzz to send him to sleep tonight without much trouble.

Jack leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “So Tank figured you out?”

“Not exactly,” Jim growled, “I wasn’t made; I was betrayed. By one of my old snitches.”

Jack raised a brow, leaning back against the couch cushions and waving a hand lazily in the air. “This stool-pigeon got a name?”

“Once,” muttered Jim as he finished off the beer in his hand and debated whether or not to go get another one. Jack watched him, obviously waiting for more info. So he started talking, starting from the beginning, when he worked his way into Tank’s crew. Told Jack about a couple of the jobs he worked for the small time gang lord. Then he explained about the rift that was beginning to create havoc among the lower ranking thugs. And finally he told Jack about the snitch who ratted out the big cop, and was cut down for his troubles. All ending with a horrendous beating and a chase through the roughest parts of town until he passed out, and then waking up in the warehouse. Jack only interrupted once or twice, just to understand a point or two. Finally Jim ground to a halt and Jack sighed, wiping a hand over his face.

"Goddammit, how did this get so screwed up?" Jack asked rhetorically as he dropped the bottle he had been holding loosely to the table. He impatiently raised both hands to roughly scrub over his face, like he was trying to wash away any expression that might have taken up residence on his face with the mess. Then, without any fanfare, he stood and headed for the door. Saying as he went, “Listen Jimbo, I’m going to have to check on things at the station, see if anyone has heard anything. You just sit tight here and wait for my call alright?”

Jim glowered at his Captain which caused the man to chuckle. His hand on the knob, he seemed to think of something and paused at the door. “Hey, I’m glad Frankie Malone was able to help you anyway, well him and anyone else who happened to help you out that is, that was a bit of alright luck right there eh?”

Jim frowned and waved a hand to stop his friend, asking, “How did you know it wasn’t just Frankie who helped me? Why would you think there was someone else?”

“Jim, I’m not stupid. Please do me the courtesy of not treating me like I am.” Jack folded his arms across his chest, “Frankie never would’ve left ya alone when you were that banged up, and he had to tell me how hurt you were when he called for your emergency bag four days ago. Now are ya done tryin’ ta pull the wool over this old fox’s eyes?”

Jim shrugged a bit sheepishly, prompting Jack to respond dryly, “No problem, Slick, it was worth a try. Granted, not much of one, but worth a try. Anyway, you remember to just sit tight here until you hear from me, I’ll do my best to get back to you by tomorrow and then who knows? You’ll need to get a quick once over at the hospital and after that you could come into the station and file your own damned report. How’s that sound?”

Jim leaned his head back and sighed. “Yeah, sure thing, Cap. Tomorrow.”

He heard the door shut and closed his eyes. Tomorrow was going to be a long day if Jack found that Jim hadn’t been compromised too badly. Dragging himself off the sofa and, after checking the locks and lights, climbing wearily up the stairs to his bed, he shucked off his clothes and slipped under the covers with a heartfelt sigh of relief. For a brief moment, he was afraid that he would not be able to fall asleep.

But then, as his lids drifted shut, he caught a full image of his Angel, smiling shyly while glancing up from under long, lush lashes, peering past a chestnut curtain of curls. With that image fixed firmly upon his mind’s eye, Jim was thrust happily into sleep.

o-O-o

Jim sat at his desk, finishing his latest report for Jack, and scanning the file that he had been given as his last assignment for Vice. It was a hand-me-down case from Seattle, but spirit of co-operation and all that crap. After this, he had been promised a transfer to higher rankings. Not that he didn’t like working for Jack, but it was getting harder and harder to turn a blind eye to the sadness on the streets. Cascade PD was opening a new division upstairs that Jack had earmarked Jim to move to. He just had one more job to deal with first.

Wolfram Corwin was an established businessman in Seattle, known for shrewd business dealings with other countries. He was in the import/export trade. And Seattle’s finest believed the man was into importing and exporting harmful shipments. Drugs... guns... people. All the things that Jim despised in the business.

Vice in Seattle had been trying to get into Corwin’s operations for some time now, and had been failing miserably. It was believed that the cop shop down there had a leak inside. Either a dirty cop or some of the admin staff paid off by the person or persons unknown, and telling all the secrets. They had already lost two teams. Vanished completely. Most likely dropped off somewhere in the Sound.

One thing that _*had*_ been noticed was Corwin’s taste in beautiful things. Young men, to be exact. But the latest batch of young vice rookies in Seattle had become compromised, and the surrounding precincts were fresh out of available kids. Time to do some recruiting. But it had to be a specific type of ‘toy’. Flipping through the file, he came across the ‘toy’ qualifications.

Dark Curls, Blue eyes. Young, 20-25, small stature. The ‘toy’ was supposed to be exactly that, a plaything for the man - more of window dressing rather than anything vital. But Jim knew the vital information that could be gleaned from a wise choice of a silent witness. He would need someone with good observational skills, who knew when to be seen and not heard. Unbidden, an angelic face with bright blue eyes flashed before his own and he smiled a slow grin.

Snatching up his phone, he made a quick call and an even quicker reservation for two. Then he looked up another number and called another old friend. Hopefully the Irishman would be able to give him a hand with this special case.

o-O-o

Frankie Malone grinned around a mouthful of the most delicious steak he had ever tasted. Chewing thoughtfully for a moment, he stared across the table at his friend and the reason for this fine lunch. Swallowing his bite, he asked, “Ok, Jim. What’s the skinny?”

Jim smirked, “What? I can’t buy my best friend, and savior, a decent lunch?”

Frankie snorted around a bite of potato. “No, I think that’s allowed. I mean, far be it for me to stop you spending what has to be a small fortune on this sumptuous morsel of meat.”

Jim raised a brow at the whimsical turn of phrase. Frankie canted his head, staring Jim down. “But this isn’t about lunch. And it’s not about me saving your ass... You want something.”

Jim ducked his head and speared another piece of meat, plopping it in his mouth and chewing quietly. Frankie ate as well and after another minute or two, he pressed again, “Out with it buddy. What’s the deal? What are you looking for?”

Jim met his friend’s gaze and sighed. “Angel.”

Frankie chuckled lightly as Jim ate some more of his meal. When he was finished, he sat back at and watched Frankie finish his own plate. Looking up from his last swig of beer, Frankie smirked, “He got to you, didn’t he?”

Jim shrugged, “I need a ringer for a job. I figured he could play ‘toy’ for me in Seattle.”

“You thought since he’s used to being a prop for the girls, he could be a prop for you?” Frankie charged. Jim shrugged again. Frankie shook his head. “Kid’s out of the game, Jim. You want to see him, better check the university.”

Jim blinked. “He’s a student?”

Frankie snorted, “Not anymore.”

“What’s that supposed to mean,” Jim sighed. Frankie laughed and dropped his napkin on his plate, pushing back from the table. He stood and extended his hand to Jim, shaking it warmly.

“His name is Sandburg, Blair Sandburg. Anthropologist at Rainier. Look him up... and be sure to tell him I said hello.” And with that, Frankie Malone was gone, back to his kids on the street, the ones who needed him.

o-O-o

 _*Blair Sandburg, DOB: 5-24-69, Address...*_ Jim read the file on his subject with great interest. Graduated High School at 15, started Rainier at 16, Bachelors at 18 and Masters at 20. He had an impressive resume including several articles in some of the more noted journals of his field, three expeditions, including one to Africa. He recently went on sabbatical to finish his dissertation on _*The Why of Walking the Streets: An in depth study of the reasons behind prostitution in modern times.*_

And, he had just returned to defend it, three days ago. The same day that Jim had gotten a good look at his blue-eyed rescuer only moments before his return to the real world. Rubbing his hands through his short cropped hair, he sighed with frustration. “I am such an idiot.”

“You needed someone to tell you this, Ellison? Or did you finally figure it out all by yourself,” muttered one of the Vice detectives walking by. Mercer, he remembered. Jim tossed a rude gesture his direction before standing and snagging his jacket. He had an Angel to find.  



End file.
